


Yesterday's Rose

by blueberry_absinth



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age - Various Authors, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Soul Mate AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-02-29
Packaged: 2018-05-23 21:59:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6131482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueberry_absinth/pseuds/blueberry_absinth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When she finally gets her vallaslin, everyone knows she has<br/>been chosen for something far greater than a normal life in their clan. <br/>Soulmate AU in which you get the name of your enemy tattooed on your arm, and the name of your love - on the other arm</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yesterday's Rose

When she finally gets her vallaslin, everyone knows she has been chosen for something far greater than a normal life in their clan.

The magic of these markings also brings the names of one’s love and enemy upon their arms, which in her case are extraordinary.

Winding down her left arm, the one she holds over her heart and pulls clanmates close, is the word _Solas_. Pride.

Following the biggest vein down her right forearm, the one she uses to fight and protect, is the name _Fen’harel._

Pride is not a good ally in a fight, her elders say.

She shakes her head and wants to say Solas wouldn’t be an ally, they would be a love first and foremost, please get your facts straight, but they already doubt her opinions, given the fiery temper she’s developed. 

Years later she meets him in a rare moment of calm among fire and brimstone after he’d grabbed her hand and pulled it towards a rift, not unlike the way waves yank seafoam back into the depths.

“My name is Solas if there are to be introductions,” he says and she introduces herself and asks him about his future and he replies politely, but they both stop listening after hearing each other’s names, eyes raking all over their bodies, telling each other one thing.

_Hello, soulmate. Didn’t expect you here._

They handle the Breach before any further conversation, but in the pauses between skirmishes, she listens to him bicker softly with Varric and shout at spirits, and wonders at the quality of his voice and the origin of his accent. She is lucky fighting is second nature to her because she is way too distracted by this revelation to focus properly on the fight.

She later finds herself to be the Herald of a religion she doesn’t believe in and while trying to fix things, run into larger and larger problems. Sometimes literally. Luckily he is by her side.

Not that much later she finds out that she needn’t have believed the names’ magic crawling on her arms. Because even without his name permanently etched in her skin, she still wouldn’t keep away from him. 

And even if he keeps telling her it’s not a good idea for them to get involved, he’s as eager to touch her as she is. 

Their first kiss flows into their first kiss in reality (although she wouldn’t let Solas catch that), and she visits him even more often, protects him even more fiercely, tries holding his hand and finds out she likes it.

She knows Corypheus is just a pawn in a game, older and with more players than she would have ever thought, and when Solas asks her why, she shakes her head, smiles and says, “Just a hunch.”

They don’t mention being each other’s soulmates, because what use talking about something that both are already intimately aware of and revealing each other’s tattoos would be a step towards a commitment both of them aren’t ready for?

The first time he sees the tattoo of her love and enemy is an oddly ordinary moment.

She was wounded again, having gone the extra effort to purge the Emprise of a bit more red Templars. Though he has healed her many, many times and she has never let him treat her arms, she is suffering from a nasty gash on her right arm that she can’t ignore nor fix by herself. Out of her companions, Solas is the most knowledgeable of healing, so he shuffles in her tent and no one questions it (despite Varric’s dirty joke she couldn’t hear). 

He bandages all her wounds, takes care of the smallest gashes and tiniest bruises, and lavishes her in tender touches that almost tickle in their gentleness, but when he goes for her arm, she violently pulls back, tipping over the jar of his fresh-smelling concoction that was amazing on sore muscles. It turns over and slowly starts oozing out on her bedroll. What a waste. 

He retains his grip on her, however, gentle and persuasive as ever.

“Please, let me.”

The quiet insistence in his voice somehow convinces her to let him see. She doesn’t know why, but something in her protests against showing him her enemy’s tattoo.

His hands gingerly unwraps the hard, bloodied fabric that functions as a bracer.

And there, under his fingers, herbs and magic, _Fen’Harel_ slightly glows.

Solas lets out a noise, which she recognises as laughter, but he bites and chokes it out like one would be sick, and she briefly wonders why he’s sounded like that.

He silently picks up the jar and scoops a generous amount of the concoction and smears it all over her arm. The fresh smell of elfroot and possibly a thousand more ingredients fills her nostrils and calms the frayed ends of her nerves, but she still feels uncomfortable with the soft side of her arm up in Solas’s direction. 

“Please, don’t make a Dalish comment.”

A brief glance up from surprisingly dark eyes, and he was back to his work, now slowly weaving a bandage around her arm.

“I wasn’t planning to.”

An audible sigh escapes her mouth without her even realising that and inspires a frown from Solas.

“Do you think so low of me? I would never dismiss your holy mission so fast especially now that it apparently involves fighting evil Dalish trickster gods.”

“Hey!”

His laugh is louder and more genuine now, and she would have called him out his teasing, but feels a certain tension bleed out of the air; she hasn’t noticed it up until now. Her newly bandaged hand reaches out tentatively, still sore and a bit numb from his work, and brushes his shoulder. He looks up to her, eyes dark and thoughtful.

“Hey—“ she hesitates, but then gathers up the courage which lets her fight dragons, templars and bears with no fear, but which seems to fail occasionally in Solas’s presence, “thanks for patching me up.”

He smiles and she loves him for understanding the things she never manages to say outright and has to force between the lines.

…

The night he shows her the names on his forearms is dark, quiet and clear, only serving to deepen the atmosphere of intimacy she feels slowly pressing onto her. Solas

The names of both his arms say the same thing.

Emma.

With a start, she realises what he must have feared ever since their meeting at the Temple. How, without knowing whether she was the enemy Emma or the love Emma, he has had to live among the tatters of an organisation that hunted down and eradicated those like him. Her promise of protection echoed through her mind, and this time she saw it through his eyes: a duty-binding promise, but also the relief that she didn’t consider him her enemy.

He is looking down where their hands are clasped. She squeezes them and tries to find his eyes. Though he’s not avoiding her gaze she can’t find it.

“So what, Solas? There are so many Emmas out there, I doubt both refer to me!”

He gently shakes his head.

“You are right to doubt this system, as it is not as perfect as one would have you believe. However, I am more inclined to believe that the word doesn’t refer to a name.”

“What would it refer to?”

He doesn’t reply then, but even then she finds out she doesn’t need his words to know. His hands are still in hers, but they are shaking now. Veiny black script titters along the bulging veins of his forearms, spelling out her awfully common name. His fingers are slender and soft from all the work with herbs he’s been doing and she knows they feel exquisite over her skin, but now they are a tad too pale, and holding onto hers a tad too hard. She thinks of all the translations “emma” has from Elvish.

Why are his arms so awfully beautiful?

He is still silent.

“Solas?”

He looks up, in a carefully schooled expression, and she knows where not to prod and to leave him to say his due.

“It is nothing, my heart. Forgive me. It is just that for countless years I have thought that my only destiny is to live alone. That I would be my own best ally and worst enemy. I thought—“

She interrupts him with a single finger on his mouth and smiles softly as her hand moves to cup his cheek.

“Then, let’s be happy that my parents didn’t have good knowledge of Elvish.”

Solas smiles and covers her hand with his, simultaneously putting the other one on her waist and pulling her closer. A giggle of the sort she would only allow herself in his exclusive presence leaves her lips and she easily follows, giving him a peck and deepening the kiss as she finds a comfortable place in his lap.

“Plus I thought you didn’t believe in destiny and that sorta stuff.”

“No, I don’t,” he chuckles lightly, and though the smile stays on his face for a long time, she can’t help but notice his whole body shivering, as though in fear. 


End file.
